Bitch on the Blog

March 24, 2017

Hop Scotch

What of the theory that certain character traits and talents do tend to skip a generation? Do you think it bollocks or can you cement the above with examples of your own life’s experience?

U

February 12, 2017

Hell, water and drowning

Just when you think yourself as snug as a bug in a hug with, more or less, all questions of ethics and their answers under the belt one sneaks up on you.

Holy cannoli – the noose tightens.

This, drawn to my attention a few minutes ago, is so awful I am in knots.

For sake of argument you have to assume you have more than one child. You find yourself at the mercy of the elements and you can only save ONE of your children. Which one would you save? This is so awful I can barely get my head round it. Naturally, as one does, I cast my eye back to my family of origin. Who would either of my parents of four have saved? I dare say, being quite a bit older than my siblings and therefore stronger, both my mother and my father would have left me to fend for myself. But that still leaves them with three to choose from. I’d rather not pursue this line of thought. It’s unsettling beyond belief. At least that’s tonight’s nightmare guaranteed. Not that members of my family normally play much of a role in my dreams.

Any crutches of your own thoughts on this truly horrendous scenario welcome.

U

January 13, 2017

Please select one of the following options

I need to vent a brief spleen. And who better than my helpless readers to vent it on?

One of the reasons I am considered to be so “good with children” that I have the patience of several saints rolled into one. Keyword “patience”. I myself would say that the reason I am good with children, indeed anyone, is because I am interested in them. But that’s not today’s spleen’s subject.

Patience. Naturally, as one would expect considering the laws of adversity, my personal life is peopled with people on a short fuse. GG (gay guy) had the shortest of them all. He was charming with it and, at a distance, one can live with other people’s short fuses. Though, truth be told, short fuses leave me bewildered. I don’t get it.

Back to where I started. I nearly blew a very long fuse ten minutes ago. Though I didn’t. It’s not that poor girl’s fault (Chinese, stuck in some god forsaken BT call centre, with an almost undecipherable accent to match) that the company she works for is what it is.

What got my goat – and not for the first time – that people just assume (in letters ASSUME) that I have a mobile/cell phone/handy so they can send me a text to confirm whatever there is to confirm. I DO NOT HAVE (see above). On relating this the dense will repeat the question: “What is your mobile number?”. This is the moment when even I (eleven minutes into a tedious call) am ready to burst a blood vessel. I don’t and I didn’t.

My question to you: Are we supposed to sing and dance to the same tune?

U

December 5, 2016

Strife

Filed under: Family — bitchontheblog @ 12:11
Tags: , , , , ,

Just because November has gone and I am still alive doesn’t mean the worst is over. It isn’t.

To take my mind off things I phoned my youngest sister yesterday. As I do every Sunday. You may remember that my youngest sister, think Mona Lisa, is the militant in the family. She digs in her heels at the slightest provocation. So, for years, she has broken off all contact to my father. My mother appears to be a write off too. All in the name of my youngest sister being indignant. I try and steer the boat but do not flatter myself that I can avoid her Titanic sinking before my mother snuffs it. It’s awful. Awful, awful, awful. Yes, so it’s awful, and Dog Almighty, me, the older sister, can do shit all to make it better. Rarely have I felt less helpless.

On a lighter note (please do note pun: “Lighter” as in match) my sister reported that three of her four children do smoke. And she found them out. The last bit the bad bit. If you are being found out by my sister your marching orders will be given before you know where your feet, never mind your boots, are.

I tried to convey that whilst good mothers make sure that their children’s grazed knees, bruised egos and whatever, you can make better”,bla bla bla bla, as long as they are little and run to you, there comes a time in life when you have to abdicate (with a heavy heart) and leave those well honed bodies, souls and health to be wrecked at your kids’ leisure – or not. Oddly, my/our mother knew this – instinctively. I moved out from home – one minute to the next, literally – and my mother gave me her blessing. My father went ballistic. He always does. Sometimes I think, don’t tell her, that my youngest sister and my father are so alike they should be locked in a padded room and sort it out between the two of them.

I am sure it’s marvellous to have siblings. Only surpassed by being an only.

U

August 15, 2016

Divisions

Filed under: Children,Communication,Family — bitchontheblog @ 17:10
Tags: , ,

It’s been long in the making. Now it has dawned on me.

Parents of more than one child please do take note: Just because one or two of your children give you grief, demand your constant attention, doesn’t mean that the rest of your brood is immune to life’s vicissitudes.

U

September 12, 2013

Obstetrics

Filed under: Despair — bitchontheblog @ 14:50
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

A wasp has nothing on me this minute. Mad as a hatter, closely following my last post’s theme which I wish I’d never posted. But that’s posting for you: Once in the box don’t blush.

If I open one more (quality?) broadsheet paper and get shit like “Childfree” I am not sure what I AM going to do. I’ll do something. At least throw up if nothing else comes to mind.

C H I L D FREE? May you never regret not having been shackled.

Naturally, those who pride themselves on being ‘child FREE’ also spout, in the same breath: “Why would I breed?” Indeed why would you bitches BREED? Remember, sweethearts, you are not dogs, horses, cattle put to work by a BREEDER.

Can’t attribute this quote, just as well: “Sexually active yet childfree is a relatively new achievement.” Achievement? What achievement? Are you guyesses out of your fucking mind? If your biological destiny passes you buy – fine. Don’t make a virtue out of it.

To clear up any misunderstanding: All I object to is the term child “FREE”. Can’t even blame Americans to put this crap expression at our doorstep since the English have latched onto it like a baby to its mother’s breast.

My father once reminded me (in a different context): “Not freedom FROM what, but freedom TO what?” Hope you get the drift.

In the line up of women accompanying a particular article on the subject I am ashamed of what complete vacuous arseholes some women make of themselves. Do what you want to do, don’t do what you don’t what to do: But, for heaven’s sake, don’t brag about your life choices at the cost of those who made a different one.

And, when you spout “Life is better without kids”, do remember that once upon a time, when your parents couldn’t help themselves, you (A KID) did come about.

U

June 20, 2013

Dead end

Blogging, or rather commenting on blogs, has taught me limitations. It’s not a lesson I welcome. But there it is. The result being that when I’d like to spit – in answer to some totally inane opinions – I will not (any longer) do so. Or rather I will, but only in the privacy of my own earshot. Herculean efforts on my part are being made every day to keep the lid on the pan and not let the pressure cooker and its contents be splattered round comment boxes. The only person who has to clear up the mess is myself. Which I don’t mind. I am not exactly lazy and perfectly happy to live with any fallout. Even the toilet has once more given up the will to flush.

But then it’s not about ME, is it? It’s about others. And who am I to tell people that parenthood sure does bring out the little Hitlers in so many, too many? Moi? Not on your nelly. I’d like to. In fact, I am dying to do so. Not least to rescue those poor little blighters subjected to giants in their lives at knee cap height. Do still my beating heart. And I will take a deep breath and hold it. After all, one needs to carefully judge how many friends and foes one can handle. Many a Pyrrhic victory has been won only to find oneself in exile nevertheless. Better men than me have been left to rot because they didn’t know when to quit.

Anyway, a woman’s distractions are many and mine, thank God, this minute being the kitchen. No, not to scrape leftovers off the walls but start a fresh delight.

Hugs and kisses,

U

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